Page 18 of The Truth About You and Me
‘Can I ask you a question?’ I begin, emboldened by the alcohol zinging its way around my body.
‘Shoot,’ he says twisting around in his seat, elbow leaning on the armrest.
‘Where were you supposed to be tonight?’ He takes a moment, eyes darkening, deep in thought, thumb tapping against the armrest. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t need to explain…’
‘No, it’s fine.’ He gives me a small smile. ‘My shop was nominated for an award.’
‘Congratulations!’
‘Thank you.’ Jack’s leg is bouncing a little as he takes another sip.
‘Or commiserations?’ I probe. Jack focuses on the slushie logo on the outside of the clear plastic. The cup tips to the right then left. Slowly, he drags his eyes from the cup.
I don’t need to touch him. I don’t need to read his thoughts to experience the sense of pain behind those brown eyes as they meet mine, because it’s there, shouting through the taut air between us. ‘I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to pry. Your business is your own.’ I fumble for the right words. That’s the thing when you live with a vacuum cleaner for company: rusty social skills that need buffing.
‘No, it’s fine.’ He gives me a gentle smile, shifting in his seat and pulling at his earlobe, a healed ear-piercing hole above his thumb. ‘I had a?—’
But his words are swallowed by the lights coming on in all their full end-of-credits brightness. Jack and I shield our eyes.
And Romy walks into the room.
* * *
Outside, the storm has lost its enthusiasm, a light drizzle coating the fur on my coat.
‘I’m…’ Jack and I both say.
‘You first,’ I add.
‘I’m glad I chose to come here, Maggie.’
‘I’m glad too.’
Tactfully, Romy begins to walk away.
‘I’d like to see you again,’ Jack says. But this time, when he says it, this isn’t the man I didn’t know, who asked me out moments after meeting me. This is the man who has become part of the tangled labyrinth of my life. Who knows and has seen that I’m different.
The person he knows, this woman who has flirted and acted out her part in a life that she can never have, isn’t real. But that invisible thread that somehow makes me feel connected to him tugs and the words fall out of my mouth.
‘I’d like that too.’
‘So… next Friday?’ he asks, his head leaning to the right. ‘You, me, Henry…?’ He meets my eyes with that intense gaze that I have come to recognise, eyes searching mine as though looking for answers.
‘Oh, I think Henry can sit the next one out. He’s already seenNotting Hill.’
Jack lets out a soft laugh that runs up my body from the soles of my purple boots to my scalp.
Romy gives a not very discreet cough. We both glance in her direction, awkward smiles passing between us.
‘Goodnight, I’m-not-Jack.’
‘Night.’
He hesitates like there is more he wants to say, but then begins walking away. Panic expands inside my ribcage, that feeling of homesickness already beginning to rise. I step forward, in case – despite his offer to see me again – he realises that it would be a mistake for this to go further; that this special relationship born through soft lighting and magic reveals its true self, and he sees me with all my flaws, in the cold light of day. ‘Jack?’ He stops, half turning in my direction. ‘Hold on…’
My hands are already fishing in my bag for a pen and paper. I pull back my gloves and scribble down my details. He walks back towards me, my breath hitching, his dark eyes so intense that it feels like he could read my mind if he wanted to. ‘Here’s my number. In case you ever need a friend or, or someone to fight aliens with.’ I reach out. His face falls, eyes drawn to my scribbles with a frown. ‘Forget it, I…’ I rush on, retracting the paper but his hand dashes out, his fingertips brushing gently against mine as he looks down.
There is a crack of sound as Jack’s thoughts and emotions crash into mine. Then there is a snap, like an electrical current and I know I’m about to see as well as hear his thoughts. There is a rip, a resistance, and symbols and words collide and disappear; there is a pain at the back of my head and then the noise stops, like a void has swallowed his memories. Before I have time to prepare myself, an image forms. A man.
